


Sinking Down Into My Thoughts

by woakiees



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Possible Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23881546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woakiees/pseuds/woakiees
Summary: “He couldn’t take the ghosts in his lungs and the skeletons in his closet. He couldn’t stand the taste of war anymore, so permanent on his tongue. The battles stitched across the skin of his back. All of the times he had failed.”
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Sinking Down Into My Thoughts

At first it had been easy.

Poe was familiar with loss. He had been so young when he experienced it for the first time — with his parents, when they had so valiantly risked their lives to hopefully better his. Years he would never get back. Time. Time that was cut even shorter when Death had come for his mother. He had been only eight. Just a small boy, a boy too young to understand what had been taken, ripped right out from under him. Too young to understand why daddy was crying, and why mommy wasn’t there to tuck him in at night, to stop his own tears from flowing down red cheeks.

But he supposed he should be thankful, in some twisted sense of the word. Because that experience had numbed him, helped to dull the sting of loss when it struck. Death, loss, mourning — it was unavoidable, especially in a life riddled with war. It was easy _because_ it was unavoidable.

But then suddenly, it was. It was all so completely avoidable. Suddenly Poe realized there was so much he could have done, so much he could have changed. So many lives he could have saved if he had only tried just a little harder. If he hadn’t been so selfish. If he had sacrificed himself.

And he was disgusted with himself, because he often used death, the loss of life to inspire others. Used it as an example. Talked about it like it was some beautiful sacrifice and not a terrible tragedy.

All that blood — it was never once beautiful. It was only ever red. He took it and he turned it into something beautiful, something romanticized so people would take chances, so they wouldn’t be afraid.

He couldn’t do that with you.

He hadn’t been able to say anything about your death at all.

It had been the one that had made him realize that he was so completely fucking selfish, that death wasn’t something to sentimentalize. Because fuck, it had hurt so fucking badly. It had stabbed him through the heart, and now he would have to die twice because you had gone first.

And he hated himself even more because he hadn’t felt a damn thing. It wasn’t like all of the stories, where you get that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, when you just know that something so terrible has happened to the person you love. It wasn’t like that at all. He felt nothing. Shouldn’t he have felt something?

And for that reason, part of him wondered if you really were gone. Part of him wondered if BB-8 had simply been wrong. Maybe he missed something. He wondered if maybe the small droid had blown a fuse in the landing, broken a sensor, _something_ , anything. How many times had Poe crashed a ship and still managed to walk away with his life? There had to be a chance. Hope.

But his beloved droid, the only thing he had left, promised that he had been so completely thorough in checking the wreckage. That you weren’t there. There was nowhere else for you to be. It had been a week now, and Poe had spent every single night laying in the grass just outside of the hangar, waiting for you.

You never came.

He couldn’t stay on base.

He was driving himself mad. Everywhere he looked, he saw you, felt you. It was all too much. Poe hadn’t even been able to bring himself to sleep in the bed you once shared, hadn’t been able to bring himself to look towards the spot where your X-Wing should have been parked — the spot right next to his. He hadn’t been able to say your name, though it was still ringing in his ear, your voice was still in his head, and he just wanted it to stop.

It wouldn’t fucking stop.

He had been flying with no particular destination in mind, though still on Ajan Kloss, for over ten hours now, hoping to clear his mind. But his thoughts — they were all you. All he could think about was you and your laugh and the way that you smelled and how you couldn’t get through the mornings without your caf, and how you ran your fingers through his hair on the nights he couldn’t sleep, and how you would sneak up behind him in the command center and wrap your arms around his waist.

How he didn’t believe in a Heaven, but he had been picturing you there, because _Maker_ , he wanted you to be there, waiting for him even though he fucking knew he didn’t have a chance at getting in himself.

How he had lost and lost and lost, but he never imagined that he could lose you, but your life proved to be just as fleeting as everyone else’s.

Just as fleeting as his could be.

Poe wanted to crash his X-Wing. He wanted it to be over. He had even closed his eyes for several minutes at a time, just hoping to crash into something, and he was growing frustrated because every single time he felt himself getting just a little too close to the ground or any other object, he pulled back. He couldn’t fucking do it.

He was so, _so_ weak.

He _wanted_ to do it. He _deserved_ to do it. But he couldn’t fucking bring himself to because your voice grew even louder each time he came close, telling him not to, _begging_ him not to. And stars, he would always listen to you. Always did before.

But he just couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take the ghosts in his lungs and the skeletons in his closet. He couldn’t stand the taste of war anymore, so permanent on his tongue. The battles stitched across the skin of his back. All of the times he had failed. How he had failed you.

Poe was losing his mind.

And he was even more sure that he was losing his mind when he heard BB-8 frantically rush out that he had someone from base trying to come through his comlink, your call sign attached.

“Buddy, that’s Y/N’s. You know that.”

More frantic beeping that translated into two simple words — “I know.”

Poe’s stomach sank. He really did have a loose wire, a missing bolt, he wouldn’t make such a monumental mistake otherwise. BB-8 didn’t make mistakes.

“Beebee, this isn’t funny.”

The droid made a noise that sounded almost like a huff. “Just trust me.”

Poe grit his teeth, wanting to slam his head into the controls if he were being quite honest. But regardless, he flipped on the speaker of his coms, staying quiet, merely listening.

He heard some muffled talking, but he couldn’t really make out any particular voice or what they were saying. It had to have been a mistake, someone resetting something. Someone playing a sick joke, trying to mess with him. He shook his head, letting it hit the back of his seat with a small thump and a heavy sigh. He was just about to flip it off, already angling himself towards the ground again when a voice broke through the static.

“You know, I was kind of hoping that you’d be here waiting for me Dameron.”

He pulled up suddenly, causing the ship to jerk wildly for just a moment, his eyes widening and the air completely leaving his lungs as if he had been kicked in the chest.

“Y/N?”

“Hi flyboy.”

Poe couldn’t speak. Completely lost the ability to. His head was spinning wildly and he felt like he was going to be sick. This couldn’t actually be happening. How could this be happening? BB-8 had been so sure.

“You still with me Poe?”

He swallowed the lump that was threatening to rise in his throat.

“I’m losing my damn mind.”

You laughed. You laughed and Poe’s stomach flipped because he thought he would never get to hear that beautiful, angelic sound ever again.

He swallowed again. He didn’t want to start crying, not then. He would save his tears for later that night, once he had you back in his arms and in the comfort of your shared quarters, once he was positive that this wasn’t his mind playing some cruel trick.

“How?”

His voice was nothing more than a broken whisper, and he hated how it sounded in his ears. It didn’t sound like him at all.

“I got thrown,” you sighed, and Poe felt his heart clench just a little bit. He remembered when he had crashed that TIE back on Jakku, how hurt and scared and dehydrated he had been before finding help.

Hurt and scared and dehydrated was better than dead though.

It was _definitely_ better than dead.

“Are you okay?”

“Just a little banged up, I’m fine. Are _you_ okay?”

Poe thought about her question, but his mind was jumping all over the place, still in shock, still not truly believing that she was really sitting back at base, talking to him. That her voice really was in his ear and not just some hallucination in his head.

“I don’t know.”

His words were truthful. He wasn’t lying. He really didn’t know.

“Come back to me baby. Come home.”

Why did he feel like he couldn’t?

“I’ve failed.”

“You haven’t failed baby.”

“I almost lost you.”

“I’m right here.”

“I can’t do this.”

Shouldn’t he have been happy? Shouldn’t he have felt _something_? Why was he still numb?

“Let me help you.”

He sobbed, the sound strangled, tearing through his throat so violently it burned his vocal chords.

He didn’t deserve it. Poe didn’t deserve anything from anyone. He didn’t deserve help, he didn’t deserve you, he didn’t deserve to live.

He deserved to lose.

“I need you, Poe Dameron. I need you.”

He stopped, his heart clenching in his chest — there it was, the feeling. Emotion. Something.

“Say it again.”

“I need you.”

Another tug.

You needed him. You needed him and you _did_ deserve everything from everyone. You deserved all of the love and affection and every little thing you could ever possibly dream of. You deserved it all. You deserved better than him.

But he was selfish. He _wanted_ to be selfish.

You needed him.

He needed you.

You didn’t deserve to lose.

He did, he still thought that he deserved to lose everything. But he couldn’t lose you, not again.

And he couldn’t let you lose him.

It had become so apparent that losing each other would only ever be red. It would never be beautiful, he could never make it beautiful.

Loss, death, all of that blood spilled in war — it was only ever red.

And Poe Dameron would do everything in his power to try and avoid it.

He’d come home. He’d see you in just a little while, and he would cry, just like he told himself he would, but he would also let himself get lost in loving you, the most beautiful thing that he could make.


End file.
